


That Bloody Cassock

by therobotjay



Category: Father Brown (2013)
Genre: Drunk Sid, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Friendship/Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-19
Updated: 2017-10-19
Packaged: 2019-01-19 20:26:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,137
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12417543
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/therobotjay/pseuds/therobotjay
Summary: Takes place after S4E2, "The Brewer's Daughter"Sid is suffering from a broken heart and Father Brown is there to help pick up the pieces the only way he can.





	That Bloody Cassock

Sid was drunk.

That wasn’t particularly outstanding, by itself. He drank regularly and when he didn’t have to work, to excess. Lady Felicia had given him the night off after...

...after everything.

He’d never had his heart broken before. It wasn’t _really_ heartbreak, he told himself. He and Grace had barely known each other.

But he was damned if a pretty lass drinking him under the table hadn’t been one hell of a turn on.

It wasn’t meant to be, though. Sid took another swig of his pint, staring moodily into the dark lager that barely covered the bottom of the glass. That was what he got for letting himself hope. For letting himself feel.

A soft sigh came from the man sitting across the table, still nursing his second pint, not nearly as sloshed as Sid was. Father Brown reached out a warm, gentle hand and removed the glass from the man’s loose fingers.

“I think that’s about enough, Sid,” the priest said calmly.

Sid opened his mouth to protest then realized that white rectangle of Father Brown’s clerical collar was swimming rather spectacularly against the flat black of his cassock. Maybe he was right. “Mmmkay,” he managed, before letting his head sink into his hands. He stayed that way for several minutes, just letting his skull spin and melt and sway on waves of lager.

It was nice. Grace’s face spun and melted and swayed too. Her yellow hair, her inviting mouth, the blood on her hands…

“Come along,” Father Brown’s voice came from a long way away.

A surprisingly strong hand closed around Sid’s upper arm, helping him to his feet, steadying him. Sid listed heavily, leaning on the priest, thankful that the man was larger, large enough to support him.

Father Brown’s arm wrapped around Sid’s waist to keep him upright. “There we are,” he said, mostly to himself. His words were as encouraging as they ever were, without a scrap of judgment.

It made Sid want to cry.

“Back to the church, I think,” the Father added, steering them both down the darkened, cobbled roads of Kembleford. Even slightly inebriated himself, Father Brown easily side-stepped the loose stones, the years of riding his bicycle down these paths showing in his muscle memory. “You can sleep it off and still be present for morning Mass.”

Sid didn’t need to look up to know that the priest was smiling. He moaned, loudly, unable to articulate exactly how much he didn’t want to even _consider_ being awake early enough for that.

Father Brown gave his side a squeeze. “Or perhaps you can sleep in, if the bells don’t wake you. I doubt the good Lord will frown too heavily so long as you make the afternoon sermon.”

A rush of gratitude made Sid’s stomach roll and his mouth fill with tingling spit. He pushed away from the priest, stumbled a few steps, then emptied his stomach into the bushes at the side of the road.

“Let it all out, Sid!” Father Brown called encouragingly from a safe distance, his smile evident in his voice.

Sid shot him a nasty look over his shoulder before puking again. He knelt there, trembling, sweating, and sick, on the cobbles for what felt like hours but was surely only a few minutes. When he finally wore himself out dry heaving after his stomach was well and truly emptied, he opened his eyes to find a handkerchief being offered.

He took it gratefully, wiping his clammy face and sour lips, then tucked it into a pocket. “Return it...when it’s clean...” he mumbled. The priest’s kind face wouldn’t quite stay still but it was less swimmy than it had been minutes ago. He reached out a hand with the thought that he’d hold it in place if it wouldn’t behave.

Father Brown intercepted the other man’s unsteady hand, taking a firm grasp of his wrist and pulling, helping Sid back to his feet. They were near to the parish, now, but not so near that he’d catch an earful from Mrs. McCarthy in the morning over the mess Sid had made in the hornbeam.

The mismatched pair managed to make it to the Father’s modest living quarters without further incident. Father Brown sat Sid down at the kitchen table and, after handing the other man a glass of water and insisting he drink it, set about making them a pot of tea.

They drank their tea in silence broken only by Sid’s occasional groans.

Father Brown didn’t say anything. He knew that Sid would talk when he was ready. He couldn’t imagine the suffering the man was going though. He so rarely opened himself up to anyone, preferring to keep a safe distance, to be a rake and a rogue, just there for a laugh. The Father knew it was a shield but it wasn’t his place to push.

Eventually, Sid lifted his eyes to meet the priest’s, a bit of a shamefaced grin on his lips. The room wasn’t doing acrobatics anymore, thankfully. Father Brown’s face _and_ his clerical collar both held steady. He cleared his throat and it stung, his throat rough.

“Thanks, Father,” he said after a moment. He raised his teacup in a small salute.

“Of course, Sid.”

A pause drew out between them, filled with the ticking of the clock on the wall.

Father Brown sighed. “Sid, if there’s anything…”

“No,” Sid said, a little too abruptly. He immediately felt guilty, seeing the briefest flash of hurt in the older man’s eyes. “It’s not...I don’t want to talk about it. About Grace.”

The priest nodded but the non-judgemental, inviting look stayed on his calm face.

“It’s just…” Sid sighed, deep and heartfelt. “I feel so stupid, you know? She took me for a ride. I thought...I thought I meant somethin’ to her and here she was just usin’ me. I wasn’t anything but an alibi.” He lowered his head into his hands, just breathing for a moment, then suddenly slammed his hands down on the table. “And it’s my own bloody fault, innit?”

“Why do you think it’s your fault?” Father Brown asked, his brow crinkling in confusion.

Sid pushed away from the kitchen table, standing. The chair he’d been sitting on made an awful noise as it scraped across the floor. He walked two steps, as far as he could in the priest’s kitchen, then turned and paced back. “Because I fell for it, didn’t I? Hook, line, and bloody sinker. It’s what I get, innit? For feelin’ anythin’. For lettin’ m’self.”

Father Brown stood and stepped into Sid’s angry little circuit, forcing the lad to either stop pacing or run into him. Sid stopped. The Father put his hands on the other man’s shoulders, knowing well that a kind touch can help communicate one’s sincerity. Or comfort someone in pain. He waited until Sid met his eyes.

“Sid, there’s nothing you could’ve done. You can’t blame yourself for the actions of another!” Father Brown squeezed Sid’s shoulders, just a little, to drive his words home. “And as for allowing yourself to feel for someone...caring isn’t a sin. Opening your heart is how you let others in. Without love, life can be very empty.”

Sid fixed the Father with a stare. “What about you?”

“What about me?” Father Brown asked with a pleasant smile.

“You keep yourself away from people, don’t you?” Sid knew that it was the last of the alcohol in his system talking. Part of his mind tried to shout him down, to talk him out of turning his shame over being tricked, over letting himself be vulnerable, into a tirade at the most kind and honest person in his life. But right that second, Father Brown’s serene expression was infuriating. What could _he_ know about love? “You, with your bloody cassock and your vow of celibacy! You don’t _let others in_.”

“That’s not true…” the Father started but Sid cut him off, taking a step closer, eyes flashing.

“I swear, if you turn this into a sermon about God’s love, I will never darken your doorstep again, _Father_ ,” Sid snapped.

Father Brown’s eyes widened a little, his head tilted just a touch, enough to shout his surprise to anyone that knew him well. That tiny motion cooled Sid’s temper like a splash of water.

“I wasn’t going to, Sid.” Father Brown smiled, not his sometimes-mischievous little grin, but warm and loving. “I was going to say that while my vow prevents me from becoming...romantically entangled...it in no way forbids love. I love each and every human life, even the sinners, because that’s what God does and we are but a reflection of His grace.” He gave Sid’s shoulders another squeeze and, in a more personal tone, one that was less pitched for the pulpit added, “And I love my friends very deeply.”

That gave Sid pause. “O’course,” he finally mumbled, bitterness in his voice. He laughed, a small and jagged sound. “Of _course_ the only person to ever love me in return is a bloody priest. I got about the most rotten luck there is, Father.”

Father Brown’s brow crinkled again. “Sid?” he asked, prompting the younger man to continue.

“Y’know, you’re the only person that’s ever really given me a chance? The only one to accept me for who I am, without judgin’ and preachin’ and tryin’ to show me the error of my ways?” Sid shook his head, chuckling.

“That would be terribly hypocritical, especially after you taught me how to pick locks,” Father Brown commented mildly.

“And hold your liquor,” Sid added.

“Yes, that’s clearly something you’re very skilled at,” said Father Brown wryly, his eyes moving to his soiled handkerchief still peeking out of Sid’s pocket.

“This was a special occasion!” Sid replied, indignant. He laughed. “It’s unfair, you know that, don’t ya?”

“What is?”

“You. You are.” Sid reached up between them, running a thumb across the Father’s cheek, his mouth quirked up in a crooked half-smile. “You’ve been so good to me, the only person in the whole bleedin’ world that’s always, _always_ , been there when I needed ya. The only person that I’ve ever trusted or loved or anythin’ that returns it. And there you are, in your damned cassock and your collar, lookin’ at me with nothing but understanding so _I can’t do anything about it._ ”

Father Brown just kept his gaze steady, calm, serene. He knew that Sid was working through his feelings out loud because he couldn’t make sense of them internally.

Sid let his hand drop and stepped back, out of the priest’s gentle grasp. He picked his hat up from the floor, where it had fallen at some point, and stuffed it on his head. “I think I’m gonna head back to my caravan, Father.”

“If that’s what you think is best,” replied Father Brown. He folded his hands in front of him. “I did mean what I said, though. I need you to know that.”

“I do, Father.” Sid shoved his hands into his pockets and looked at his shoes. “Thank you. Really.”

“You’re always welcome. And thank you, in return. You are an important part of my life and one of my dearest friends.” Father Brown’s words were so simple, so earnest.

Sid chuckled. “I’m gonna go.” He opened the door that led out into the dark of night, not looking forward to the walk home. A chilly breeze made the prospect seem even less appealing. He sighed. He couldn’t stay and risk putting his foot even further into his mouth than he already had, even though, or maybe _especially_ because, he knew Father Brown would let him pour his soul out and take it all in stride.

He walked a few steps out in the cold night air, pulling his thin jacket closer around him. A soft touch on his shoulder brought him up short.

Father Brown was holding out a thick, woolen cloak.

Sid took it gratefully. “I’ll return it when I return your hankie,” he said reflexively, a lifetime of being considered nothing but a thief training him to assure people he’d give their possessions back.

“No need,” said the Father, smiling gently.

“You know, Father,” Sid commented, eyes twinkling with mischief, “if you weren’t in that cassock, you’d be in some trouble.”

Father Brown chuckled. “You know what, Sid? If I wasn’t in this cassock, I imagine we both would be." With a mischievous smile of his own, he shut the door between them.

Sid stood there, mouth open, for several seconds. _He couldn't possibly have meant...could he? No...of course not. But maybe..._ Sid shook his head. It hardly mattered. He turned his feet toward his caravan, thankful for the warmth Father Brown had provided.


End file.
